


sunday

by distractionpie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Resting, Sleep, sick day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: Gene has a lot to do and not a whole lot of time to do it in. Something always has to give.





	

Being tired is a part of Gene's job. He'd packed in enough volunteering hours before applying to med school to know that being a doctor, especially an ER doctor, meant long days on his feet with few breaks and all of the weariness and sore feet that came with that.

Nausea too, was a burden he'd accepted, because even the strongest stomach couldn't help being occasionally turned by the sights he saw.

In truth, there were a thousand petty discomforts that came with the territory and he'd accepted every last one of them.

After three days battling with a workplace that was too hot and too cold by turns and resigned to the knowledge that him adding to the list of complainants no doubt already piling up wouldn't get it mended faster, he'd gone home and as was his occasional habit, collapsed into bed without stopping to eat.

The next morning he'd awoke to something drilling into his head.

Or at least that's what he'd thought for several agonising seconds before he'd realised it was simply the vibration of his phone on his pillow as it played what was usually a gently trilling alarm but had somehow transformed into a horrifying shriek.

Groaning, he wrestles his way out of the tangled mess of covers. Getting up and doing right when all he wanted was to curl up in a ball and work off his ever-growing sleep deficit was another thing he'd committed to when he'd signed up to the hospital.

And the next day, he does it again.

It's three more days after that when he finally gets to Sunday which is his day off on this rotation. There's a million chores he ought to be doing in that time but before he falls into bed on Saturday night he turns off his alarm. He's promised the chores to no one but himself and right now they pale in comparison to his need for rest.

His sleep, however, is interrupted once again.

"Gene?"

The whisper of his name is a lot less jarring than the sound of his alarm, but it doesn't change the fact that while Babe Heffron had somehow managed to breeze past Gene's walls and into his life, he shouldn't be in his house. Certainly not at whatever hour this is - early morning based on the streak of sunlight that creeps through the gap in the curtains. Lifting his head, Gene squints in the direction of Babe's voice. "Heffron? What are you doing here?"

"Spina gave me the emergency key you left with him," Babe whispers. "You weren't answering anybody's messages and we got worried, but he couldn't make it over and I'm off work today, so I came to check on you."

Had it really been that long since he'd spoke to his friends? "I'm not sick, just tired," he explains. But that doesn't stop Babe from pressing the back of a long-fingered hand to Gene's forehead in an amateur attempt to check his temperature. "No fever," he confirms. "I just need to rest."

Babe hums, sliding his hand up to brush Gene’s hair away from his forehead – a gesture that Gene remembered from childhood illnesses but hadn’t experienced in a long time. “You’ve gotta take better care of yourself Gene.”

Gene sighs. He’s had the same lecture from almost all of his friends, who just don’t seem to understand how much he has to fit into such little time, “I gotta lot to do Heffron. Gotta prioritise.”

“I know,” Babe murmurs, “Sorry for waking you. You prioritise getting your rest today, ‘kay Gene?”

Now he’s awake Gene can’t help but think of the messy state of his apartment and all of the things that need doing. No wonder Babe didn’t think Gene had his life together having seen the place in its present state. He really ought to get up and do something about the place, but he’s not sure he has the strength to get out from under the warm weight of his blankets, the mattress seemingly sucking him in as Babe’s hand cards softly through Gene’s hair – something he must surely be unaware of doing – and Gene's muscles relax unbidden, eyes drifting shut almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

*

Gene wakes the second time to the smell of tomatoes and basil drifting through the apartment. At first he thinks it’s the last lingering remnants of an already half-forgotten dream, but as he shakes his head and props himself up against the headboard the smell only grows clearer. A glance at the clock shows that it’s mid-afternoon. He’s slept most of the day away, but now he supposes it’s time to get up and face all the tasks he’s been putting off.

He rolls out of bed and pulls a sweater on over his sleepwear, trying to rub the last dregs of a sleep deeper than he’s had in a long time from his eyes as he heads to the living room to assess the situation.

When he steps through the door, he pauses, taking stock. He pinches himself, but no, he’s not still dreaming.

There’s no giant heap of laundry on the couch, his coffee table collection of half empty mugs of cold coffee has vanished, the bulb in the overhead light has even lost the irritating flicker it has had for weeks.

Perplexed, Gene follows his nose into the kitchen.

He’s reassured for a moment to see that there’s still dirty dishes by the sink, but a closer look reveals that the heap is much smaller than one that’s been building up there on the last few days. No, these are stacked neatly and all to clearly linked to the pan simmering on the stove-top. The pan being stirred by Babe Heffron, who appears to have made himself at home, his sleeves rolled up to reveal freckled forearms as he hums a tune Gene doesn’t recognise, swaying a little with the rhythm of it.

Gene clears his throat.

Babe turns, spoon clattering against the side of the pan. “Gene! You’re up.”

Gene stares at him. “You cleaned my apartment?”

Babe looks sheepish. “I just… uh… straightened up a bit. Figured you didn’t need to wake up to more stuff as needed doing.”

Gene nods. He is relieved not to have quite so much to deal with, even if he’s not quite sure why Babe has taken it upon himself. “And you’re cookin’.”

“Yeah, uh. I know you said you weren’t sick,” Babe says, “But I noticed there wasn’t much in your fridge. Or your cupboards. And I figured you’d be wanting more than cereal after sleeping through lunch, and y’know, you really can’t go wrong with tomato soup.”

Gene is about to say he would have been fine with what he had when his stomach betrays him by growling.

“I’ll just serve you some up,” Babe says, with a slightly mischievous smile.

“Serve yourself some too,” Gene orders. “No offense Heffron, but I ain’t trusting anything you cooked unless you’re fine with eating some yourself.”

“Well, I was gonna refrigerate-,” Babe starts, but he must see in Gene’s face that he will not be persuaded because he rolls his eyes and grabs a second bowl from the shelf. “Just you wait until you taste it,” he says instead, “You’re not even gonna believe you ever doubted me.”

Gene opens his mouth to argue, but catches a fresh waft of the aroma as Babe pours the soup from the pan. If it tastes as good as it smells… well he might have to work out what he’s gotta do to make this happen again.


End file.
